Tu Me Manques
by DarkmoonSigel
Summary: Franada Rated M for a reason. Mature content UsUk pairing is in this as well. Tu Me Manques literal translation(I hope) from French to English is 'You are missing to me' or in layman's terms 'I miss you." Misadventures in finding, losing, and re-finding love. Enjoy
1. Chapter 1

He remembered wandering through the forest…but not his own strangely enough. Flora merged together as it does in dreams, a meshing of greens and browns in a mere suggestion of his surroundings.

France vaguely remembered he had just been rejected. It was one of the few times in his long life that he had been so completely dismissed and by none other than a mere slip of a nation. Insult upon injury, it had all been for his enemy, his talentless, graceless, shameless, brow heavy English neighbor of all nations and his selfish tears. The very thought of it was nauseating to him. The New World, a lovely child with sunshine blonde hair and eyes so blue they rivaled the skies themselves, had spurned him and his magnificent cooking all for that dour English nation. It was like choosing a storm cloud over a sunny day.

Memories and dream wove together effortlessly as they had the tendency to do in a soft tapestry of striking colors and half remembered sensations as past events spurred on, jumping ahead of themselves. France had set his cooking aside to mourn his loss in power as elegantly as he could. He had turned his back for only for a second to open a bottle of wine. To his surprise, France found his cuisine mostly all gone. The sticky remnants of the feast now clung to the tiny fingers and rounded face of a tiny cherubic being. The petite angel blinked violet eyes up at him, smiling softly with a shy expression. Strangely enough, this child looked like the New World.

No…that wasn't entirely correct. France's artist eyes studied the babe intently, noting that the little one's hair had a touch of strawberry color in it with a curl hanging over his forehead instead of a cowlick. His eyes were also a soothing shade of lingering twilight instead of bright broken dawn.

"What iz thiz?", France heard himself murmur, "Can it be…..?"

Twins. The New World was a pair of twins and not one being and apparently the other one was smarter than his English loving brother or at the very least had a better sense of taste and/or smell.

France scooped up the tiny nation with a pleased laugh, pressing his long elegant nose to soft wavy hair the shade of pale sunlight tinged with a rose's kiss.

"You are zo beautiful.", France said breathily, admiring skin as pale as alabaster and as soft as a misty morning's first light. The small one just stared back at him with wide curious eyes. He seemed equally enamored but lacked the vocabulary to voice this. Instead, he leaned up in the arms that held him so close, pressing a wet, sloppy kiss to France's forehead. France startled, taken aback by the child's loving gesture so freely given. He found himself smiling back, returning the kiss but far more neatly, a simple press of lips to a smooth forehead.

"I will make you New France, my beautiful one, and we shall be together forever.", France promised as snow began to fall, "But tell big brother, do you have a name, ma petite?". The tiny nation nodded solemnly for one so small and new. Snow seemed to cling to his being as if draw to it, like glittering gems that made him appear formed of diamonds and frost.

"Kanata."

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As dreams go, it was a good one until the child spoke. Scenes shimmered and shifted, twisting as they did until they grew hot and burned his mind. Ghosts of pain flitted in, coloring in fiery shades of blood and vibrant crimson uniforms.

England had come himself to claim Canada from France, the heartless bastard he was even as tiny hands had plucked at his singed blue uniform. Canada was still far too young to know what was going on, understand the politics involved. All Canada sought from his big brother was comfort of any kind, desperate for the older nation to hold him, save him…never let him go…

England strode toward them with a cruel smirk on his lip and cold victory in his acid green orbs. Canada watched his approach with wide eyes that grew white ringed with fear. Panic took hold of him as France handed him over…willingly and without explanation.

France turned away as quickly as he could, his head down and his eyes closed. His departure was punctuated by a shrill scream though. The sound was almost surreal in its pitch and it took a moment for France to realize that it was coming from Canada. The child had always been so quiet that he hadn't even recognized his own child's crying…

No….not his anymore….

"Francis! You promised!"

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Francis woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air. He blinked in the foreign darkness, before reoriented himself to his whereabouts in the hotel room.

It was just a dream, the same one that he had been having for centuries. Time had only put its polish on it. Francis fell back on the mattress, throwing the blankets over his head so that he could curl up into himself. He was momentarily grateful he had not had a lover for this evening. Francis preferred not to share his pain with others, especially the kind seeped with shame and guilt. Forever had turned out to be far shorter than he had ever expected. The ancient being snorted at himself in disgust. He had to be careful or else he would start acting like some old man like Arthur.

Remembering the existence of his oldest frenemy brought back the fading bits of dream turned nightmare. Francis sat up wearily to lean against the headboard. He lit a cigarette to calm his unease, not caring that the room was nonsmoking. He blamed the dream's existence on his current whereabouts for the harsh intrusion on his beauty sleep. Whenever he was in Canada, Francis remembered the best….and the worst of their brief time together.

Francis hugged himself, leaning over his knees. This burden was old and far to heavy for him at times. It was hell for him to be in this country but every nation had to take a turn hosting a World Meeting. He wondered if Arthur felt like this whenever Alfred hosted. Francis would have to see him tomorrow….see them all…

Picking up his cell, Francis called his oldest friend and most hated enemy. A few room down the hall, Arthur woke with a start, answering his phone blindly and out of old habit. Nations were quite used to getting random phone call at all hours due to politics and time zones.

"It iz all your fault.", said a very familiar voice full of tired resentment and heavy with emotion.

"When is it not.", Arthur replied quietly. He was answered with a dial tone.

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The smell of something delicious wafted through the edges of the void. Canada knew he was dreaming. He gave his subconscious free leeway to guide him anyway. He so rarely dreamed of food, wondering what is could possibly be this time. His dreams were always so vivid when it came to sensations. Meals and wine never tasted sweet than when they were being consumed in a dream.

The food he was eating was creamy and salty with a crunchy texture. The meat was fall off bone tender, flavored with strange spices and seasonings Canada could not even begin to name. It was nirvana on a smooth round surface he would later know as a plate and the food as foie gras in buerre blanc sauce with ceps and truffles.

He remembered it well. It had been his first real food ever. All food before that paled in comparison. He might has well have been eating dirt and bugs up to that point. Canada had consumed this edible miracle as quickly as he could shove it into his mouth. He had been so enamored with the food that he had failed to noticed the being sitting right beside it.

That someone had talked to him, had made him look up in surprise at his own carelessness. Canada stared up into the face of the most beautiful creature he had ever seen before. It was a man like no other, with hair the shade of molten honey seeping over his shoulders in satiny waves, his chin sparkling from a light covering of gold as well. He looked at Canada with ocean blue eyes, full of surprise and curious wonder. The strange words falling from his lips soft as petals were musical to his ears, melodic in their formation. They entranced him into stillness and Canada could only stare up in amazement as he was suddenly picked up by this gorgeous being.

To his even greater surprise, Canada found that he was being admired in return all the while the strange words caressed his ears, making the little nation feel strangely happy and safe. The man's clothing was so soft, made of materials that Canada couldn't even begin to guess what they were made of and were in shades he didn't think were possible to capture.

The man paused in his words, leaning his head forward. Canada felt like he was going to burst with excitement if he didn't do something soon. He marked the man as his own like he had seen others do by pressing his lips to the man's forehead. The other seemed surprised by it though. Canada worried he might had been too hasty for a moment until the man smiled gloriously at him, returning the gesture softly.

The snow started to fall all around them in slow gentle flakes, dusting the pair of them in white. What sounded like a question was asked them, the man obviously waiting for an answer from him. Canada felt he could trust this one with his name. He was his after all.

"Kanata."

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He was scared.

Big brother came home bleeding, his blue uniform stained with his own blood and singed with gunpowder. He offered no smiles, no kind reassurances to him. France just picked him up without a word, his sapphire eyes avoiding his own amethyst.

It was snowing that day as well as Canada was carried out into a ruined courtyard where another nation stood. He recognized the blonde vaguely, his crimson uniform just as bloody and ruined as Francis's own. Unlike big brother though, he was smiling. Canada took no comfort from the sharp expression. He clung tighter to Big Brother, burrowing his head into his chest.

"Give 'em here frog."

Inexplicably, Canada found himself being handed over. He froze in the terror filled shock of realization, his small body rag dolling as Francis let him go and turned quickly away. Canada stared at his back in horror as his 'brother' walked away from him, leaving him in the arms of this stranger.

"NOOOOOOOOO!"

Francis didn't even bother to look back at him. Canada didn't know what broke his heart more at that moment-his abandonment or the lack of caring that went with it.  
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Matthew woke up slowly, hugging Kumajirou to him a little tighter. The polar bear snuggled in closer, tucking its small fuzzy head under his chin in response. Soft snoring right beside him alerted the Canadian that his twin had snuck into his room again sometime during the late hours. Matthew rolled his eyes at America who had probably stayed up half the night watching horror movies or playing video games instead of getting a good night's sleep before the meeting. He kicked his brother until the American turned over and was on his side of the bed again. Matthew briefly thought about kicking him out entirely so that he could have his bed back but it seemed way too much effort at the moment. The problem solved itself however, a loud thump signaled that America had just rolled off the bed, the impact not even stirring him into passing consciousness.

Now that he had a moment's peace again, Canada wondered if he had dreamed that old nightmare because France was so close to him right now, just a few rooms away. So close and yet so far.

Not that it mattered. France wouldn't talk to him tomorrow at the meeting.

He never did.

Matthew curled up tighter around his bear, wiping forming tears into the cub's fur. He refused to cry anymore over France and his betrayal. His former keeper obviously didn't care about him so why should he in return.

It didn't make it hurt any less though


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew stared up at a floating leaf as it sailed freely on the wind, dancing lightly on its crimson tips. He was entranced by its natural grace, the way it twisted in the moving air effortlessly.

"Oi America!", said an abrupt voice, its heavy English accent very distinct and a dead giveaway to its owner's identity. Matthew sighed heavily. Of all people, really Arthur should know him best.

"I'm not America, England.", Matthew sighed, trying to keep the reproach out of his voice out of old habit. Arthur predictably came to a halt, blinking in surprise at an obvious loss.

"Er…..right.", the old nation fumbled for a name, apparently coming up blank.

"He iz Canada, you fool."

Both nations jumped in surprise at the new voice, Matthew especially but not for the same reasons as Arthur. When was the last time Francis had deigned to see him? Recognize him? Speak even in his general direction?

"How the bloody hell do you know that?", Arthur snapped, never liking to be shown up by his long time frenemy.

"Mon Dieu, it iz zo obvious. Hiz hair, of course. It iz silk upon the eyez." ", Francis sniffed haughtily. Matthew could only gape at the pair, his former long time keeper who always failed to recognize him when America was on his mind and/or nearby and his former father figure who hadn't given him the time of day in centuries.

The two started to inevitably argue as they were want to do whenever they were within three feet of each other. Matthew moved off to the side, silent and unnoticed by either, his natural tendency to fade into the background used to his fullest advantage.

Francis noticed his absence first, leaving off of the row midpoint. He grew unusually still, staring where the Canadian had once been. Arthur followed his gaze. He noticed the usually flamboyant Frenchman looking particularly dour.

"You could try talking to the lad.", Arthur offered hesitantly.

"Because you know zo well about that. Tell me, how iz Etats-Unis doing? Had your disgusting tea with him of late?", Francis said bitterly. Arthur winced as if he had been struck, stepping back.

"I will see you inside then.", Arthur snapped, turning sharply on his heel to leave. Francis sighed at himself, partially disappointed with his own reaction. It had been a low blow on his part. Some things should never be talked about and other shortcomings should never be brought into the light of day.

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Francis continued to feel down even as he entered the meeting room, his gaze locating the Canadian immediately, as he always did. He hid it of course, placing his signature rose to his face as he took his seat next to Arthur who blatantly ignored him. The English nation was too busy acting like his meticulous paperwork was out of sorts so that he could avoid talking to anyone while taking subtle peeks at Alfred. The grinning nation was too busy talking animatedly with Kiku about some sort of video game to notice his former keeper's antics. Arthur ended up sitting down with a depressed sigh, glaring at his pens as if they were to blame.

Francis would have snickered at him if he wasn't doing the exact same thing with his rose and Matthew. His former charge was talking quietly with his polar bear, the nation stroking its soft white fur as the pet questioned him back. He became uneasy when Matthew's neighbor, Ivan, leaned in to exchange a few words with him. Francis felt his eyes slit in sharp anger. He didn't like now the Russian smiled at his Canadian, the way his violet eyes glittered so menacingly or how Matthew smiled back at him, responding politely.

Ludwig called the meeting to order. Francis ignored him though, his concentration totally absorbed watching the Canadian. Matthew looked like he was paying full attention though he was never called upon or even acknowledged.

The meeting ran as it always did, in chaos with tears and spanking before bedtime. Ludwig was at his breaking point, yelling at any nation who so much as fidgeted after he wrestled control away from America who lost all interest in the proceedings in favor for an intense game of AngryBirds. All the nations breathed a sigh of relief when the meeting was called to an official end to mingle, fight, or pick up their dates and/or bedmates for that evening.

Francis was among the latter, chatting up anyone and everyone but was coming up dry. No one seemed to be buying what he was selling. Francis was lamenting this to England who had hung back to watch Alfred clean up his usual mess of fast food wrappers as Ludwig supervised.

"You are pathetic.", Francis sighed, slumping over the table next to his neighbor.

"Pot, kettle and glass houses, frog.", Arthur muttered angrily, finishing the ice cold cup of tea he had been nursing for over an hour so he wouldn't have to leave America's semi near presence. Francis studied the English nation openly from his prone position, admiring his glittering eyes in vivid forest shades and delicate features despite the thick eyebrows.

"I don't zuppose…", Francis purred, edging closer.

"Do not even think about finishing that sentence if you still want to walk out of here still a man.", Arthur said calmly though his eyes held a certain vicious glint that made Francis shiver. He also happened to notice Arthur's thin fingers wrap around the handle of his letter opener that looked very sharp.

Francis moved back in retreat, shrugging, "You can't blame me for trying."

"Yes, I can and I do.", Arthur sniffed, practically slamming his papers into his briefcase. Francis went back to considering the room. His options were very slim now, his sapphire eyes alighting on Alfred who had been finally released by the anal retentive German. That could hold some interesting possibilities…..

Francis got up, bringing out his rose with a silken flip of his hair. With his eyes on the prize, he didn't notice how much Arthur was so not liking the way the French nation was eyeing his love interest. He subtly tripped Francis, sending him flying facedown to eat floor.

"Whoa dude! Wipe out! How does the carpet taste?", Alfred laughed, helping him up. Francis shot a nasty look at Arthur who smirked back until the French nation pushed his advantage, leaning up close against the American's body, much to Arthur's immediate chagrin.

"No where az pleasurable az my cooking not that you would know that having Angleterre az your closest influence. I could change that for you.", Francis smiled charmingly. Alfred frowned feeling insulted and a little dirty but not really knowing why.

"Ignore him. He is just being horribly French.", Arthur sighed, recognizing the look. Francis was not about to let this go though as an idea popped into his head, one that made him smile widely at both of the nations. Arthur recognized that expression as well, his eyes going wide with fear. With a liquid smooth gesture, Francis released his hold on Alfred. He caught Arthur around his slim waist to practically fling the English nation at the American. Arthur suddenly found himself in engulfed in Alfred's muscular arms, too blue eyes blinking in surprise down at him. Arthur did the first thing that came to mind. He froze, his own eyes wide and his fingers clutching at Alfred's bomber jacket.

"Etats-Unis, ze rosbif and I were just talking about having dinner together, but alaz, I can not go. I am feeling, how you zay, under the weather. You should take my place otherwise Angleterre will get lonely and very drunk. You know how he getz when left to hiz own devicez.", Francis lied smoothly, making his expression as pathetic as possible as he played the desperate act to the hilt, "I would be ever zo grateful if you could be my hero.", Alfred barely managed to drag his gaze away from the nation in his arms to look over at Francis, swallowing hard as he tried to ignore his heroic calling and how nicely Arthur's form fit into his own body.

"I-I can't….I have plans with Mattie…..Movies and stuff….", Alfred stammered, his cheeks going very red for some reason(obvious to all expect the tsundere in the room). Arthur didn't know whether to feel relieved or extremely depressed. He did know he was liking how Alfred smelled very much though and how warm he was.

The hairs of the back of Francis's neck stood on end as he realized that Matthew was standing in the room with them and had been the whole time when he was pressed up against Alfred as close as melted butter on toast. Try as he might, his gaze kept darting to Matthew who was watching this whole scene with mild interest. Arthur noticed where Francis's attention lie though, his own evil smirk signaling his intentions.

"Oh I am sure it will be fine.", Arthur said in coiling sweet tones, making Francis break out into a cold sweat, "Matthew my sweet, would it be alright if Francis took America's place tonight? Watching the telly does not sound too strenuous for the frog's delicate constitution." Francis nearly choked, managing to hide the reaction in a coughing fit. "See, the poor old dear needs a quiet evening.", Arthur cooed, ignoring the French nation's glare of murderous intent.

Matthew jumped a bit at being addressed so openly, and even having a question asked of him. "Why does everyone choose to see me only when they want something….", Matthew reflected to himself in irritation. Not to his surprise, America answered for him.

"Yeah, that could work! Francey Pants you are going home with Mattie and I'll take Iggy out for some weird Canadian food.", Alfred worked it out, finally releasing his captive to give the room two thumbs up. Arthur tried not to look too disappointed about it.

"My food isn't weird.", Matthew said incredulous, giving his brother a look.

"Bro, your milk is in bags and you have those fries with the cancer looking lumps on them.", Alfred stated, shaking his head.

"That's poutine and you eat enough of it while you're here that I don't get any when we go out together, hoser. And you drink all my damn beer.", Matthew rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. I'll eat anything when I'm high.", Alfred shrugged.

"There's a fun thought.", Matthew grumbled, "Could I talk to real quick out in the hall?", the Canadian telling his twin, more than asking. Alfred found the back of his jacket grabbed firmly as he was hauled bodily out into the hallway, leaving the two older nations behind.

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"What have you done!?", Francis yelled, trying to keep his voice down to a dull roar as he paced, pulling at his long hair. Arthur wasn't in much better shape, the old nation currently shredding his meeting notes into small bite sized bits.

"I didn't really mean for this to bloody happen!", Arthur growled, focusing on how tiny he could get these pieces of paper down, "How was I to know that the git would actually take us up on the offer?! I'll remind you that you started this whole mess in the first place! Just couldn't leave him alone, could you!?"

"Thiz iz getting uz nowhere.", Francis conceded, running his hands through his hair tiredly, "We can argue for eternity but it doez not change that fact that we have datez now."

Arthur paled at this, fiddling with his paper pile mess, "Aye, we do. What of it?"

Francis glared back at him, his hands flapping about in his irritation. "What are we going to do about it? We can't possibly continue with thiz charade."

"Why not? Why don't we?", Arthur said rather quietly. Francis looked at him as if the English nation had suddenly grown another head.

"Are you mad or drunk?! We can't…I….can't….", Francis started to protest, the remark dieing on his tongue, "I-I haven't zpoken to him….I have been most unkind…."

Arthur bit his bottom lip, watching his oldest friend and enemy cave mentally into himself with guilt filled grief. "Then perhaps it is about time that you do. Matthew seems agreeable to it.", Arthur told him. Francis motioned dismally with his hand in an apathetic gesture when his tongue failed him.

"Chin up frog. We all have our burdens to bear.", Arthur took charge, pulling out a hip flask(one of many) to take a long pull from it before passing it to the French nation who polished the rest of it off, grimacing in disgust at it.

"And may heaven forgive us of our sins.", Francis sighed, tossing back the container to see another one appear.

"I'm not worried about that lot.", Arthur snorted, helping himself to some more rum. This evening would definitely call for some liquid courage, "I am more worried about whether I'll be eating those rubbish hamburgers tonight."

"Would you prefer a hot dog then?", Francis regrouped, the entendre not lost on his company who rolled his eyes at the weakness of it.

"Shameless tart. Never on a first date."

"That'z not what I have heard. Hon hon hon."

"Belt up or I won't share my rum with you."

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Out in the hall, Alfred found himself slammed hard up against a wall to be pinned firmly to it, reminding him that Matthew could very easily kick his ass especially when he was this pissed off.

"What in the fucken hell do you think you are doing?! Francis?! Really?!", Matthew seethed, glaring icily at his twin.

"I didn't notice you speaking up when Arthur was practically thrown at me.", Alfred growled back, happy to see that mollified his brother a bit.

"So why didn't you just commit to our plans tonight or say you were too busy like you always do? I thought you didn't even like Francis enough to agree with anything he said.", Matthew practically wailed, letting Alfred drop down with a sigh of relief from the American. Matthew know how to hit when push came to shove. It was always the quiet ones.

"Jeez, I don't. I mouth vomited a bit when he was touching me. I just didn't expect him to set up a date. I thought he just wanting to sleep with me or something creepy like that.", Alfred grumbled.

"Fucken Maple, what are we going to do aboot all this then, eh?!", Matthew panicked, shoving his glasses up to massage the bridge of his nose.

"I dunno…..", Alfred said hesitantly as he studied his shoes very carefully before looking up again, "Let's just do it."

"You go on an actual dinner date with Arthur and I spend the night watching movies with Francis?", Matthew reasoned out. It just sounded so wrong yet so perfect in his head.

"C'mon Mattie, we can't keep doing this. I'm tired of dancing in circles with Artie…."

"At least you get to dance. I don't even get looked at.", Matthew mumbled.

"We both know that's not true.", Alfred countered. Just as the old nations were watching them, they were watching back. Matthew would keep track of Arthur while Alfred did the same for Francis. One of the reasons for movie nights after the meetings between the NA twins was to compare notes, ones that had nothing to do with the meeting.

Matthew shrugged dismissively in reply. "Well, here's your chance, if not anything other than to clear the air between you two", Alfred pressed. He really wanted this and the American had made it a habit to always get what he wanted, whether for good or for bad.

"Al…..I don't know…", Matthew sighed, feeling his twin press himself to his back, the American's head coming to rest heavily on his shoulder.

"C'mon Mattie. They are never going to treat us any different if we don't do something first.", Alfred whispered, "I want something more than this damn stalemate we have going on."

"You always want more.", Matthew snorted, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Alfred knew his victory was assured now.

"Damn straight.", he grinned, "So let's go out there and get it."

"You know that they might just end up hating us. We have all changed.", Matthew warned his impetuous brother.

"Only a thin line between love and hate. I'll take my chances.", Alfred said, "So are you in, bro?" The American offered his hand, a wide grin on his handsome face. Matthew found himself laughing despite his growing nervousness and worry as he took his brother's hand, walking them back to the meeting room where Francis and Arthur were waiting.

"I can't believe I'm doing this. Yeah."


	3. Chapter 3

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A picture(look) is worth a thousand words.-Frederick R. Barnard

Francis wasn't sure what to expect when he entered Matthew's house. The drive over had been thankfully short, filled with idle and halted conversation about the meeting(dull and uneventful so the usual) and the weather(cold, cold, and oh yeah, butt ass cold).

It was not how he had pictured it at all. Francis hadn't expected to find it so warm and inviting. Matthew's house was a small two story colonial style house that was painted white and accented with bright red trim, neat as a pin on the inside as it was on the outside.

Within it was decorated in almost sensual earthen tones of gold and browns with deeper accents of dark red. The furniture was definitely old but obviously taken care of, the reddish brown of the mahogany wood polished to a high sheen with brand new cushions to compliment it. The house felt lived in but very well cared for, the wide rooms set up comfortably. What surprised Francis most though was the amount of photographs in every room, taking up any available wall space and spare surface. On all the walls and every shelf was some sort of memento or theme, a few of them going back centuries in shades of warm sepia and brittle black and white. Pictures of nations were a rare thing among their kind. Being practically immortal, the beings tended to shy away from having their likenesses captured. It broke the illusion of normalcy they tried so carefully to maintain. The fact that Matthew had so many of them was a small miracle. Francis wandered from room to room staring at them with wide eyes and an unguarded surprised expression.

America's pictures were the most prevalent and noticeable(of course), the frames of which were decorated with stars, glitter, and/or both. The surprising thing to note in them was that in most of them America was not alone, the loud nation often posing with his twin with an iron grip around him.

Images of England were a heavily seconded favorite, his frames far more sedate in nature, made of severe metal or lacquered wooden borders. The usually dour nation was often shown seated, elegantly posed with his hands folded and his ankles crossed. The only odd things about them was that he was smiling softly in most of them, a rare expression for the island nation to hold for an length of time.

Cuba was an obvious third favorite, the happy island nation standing with Matthew on faraway beaches. The pair were dressed in swimming trunks and ugly loud Hawaiian shirts, Matthew looking ridiculous pale next to Cuba. His borders were a mixture of seashells and carved driftwood.

Francis was very surprised to see quite a few depictions of his old partner in crime, Prussia. The albino nation grinned crookedly back at him in more than a few photos, usually accompanied by Gilbird, a very full plate of pancakes, and a rather sticky looking Matthew. Francis noted that his theme was red metallic or chick shaped frames.

Francis was shocked to see pictures of the Nords who usually did not deign to do such mundane things, their accent wall and frames all in shades of silver and glittering blue. Denmark looked especially friendly with Canada, the wild nation usually caught hanging bodily off of the other. Sweden and Finland stood with the Canadian outside of their home with Sealand running around in the background with Kumajirou and Hanatamago. There were even some of Iceland and Norway, the icy pair posed regally on either side of Matthew in several shots. To compound this oddity, both nations were smiling though their expressions still looked chilly. Sweden and Finland also appeared in others with Russia and Canada, all four bloodied and wearing well used hockey gear.

In fact most of the pictures with Russia had a bloody hockey theme to them…that or vodka. The tall scary nation wore a real smile though, not his usual fake creeper one, his arm almost always thrown comradely around Matthew's shoulders, who looked comfortable in the other's company when others would have been pissing themselves. There was a particularly cute picture of the two saluting the photographer with bottle in hand, vodka(no brand since Russia made his own and had been for centuries) in Russia's and whiskey in Matthew's own(he had been profitably making his own as well since his twin's prohibition).

The Netherlands had his own specially reserved spot on a table, a vase placed in its center filled with expertly preserved tulips in all shades. A rather large picture depicted Holland presenting Matthew with a version of his flag, the maple leaf in the middle changed to different (but very recognizable) type of flora. The pair wore dopey grins on their glazed faces, further confirming even the most naive viewer's suspicions on the subject matter.

Most surprising to Francis though were the photos of China and South Korea, the pair often shown very casually, just watching movies or relaxing in Matthew's kitchen as if they lived there.

One wall in particular seemed devoted to 'the family' with more pictures of America and England there, but with Scotland and Ireland among them as well. The two redheaded nations grinned back widely with Matthew firmly in a duel headlock. Their frames were done in various tartan patterns. Australia, New Zealand, and Hong Kong popped up occasionally, though only more so in group 'family' shots. Francis especially liked the one with a very irate looking England surrounded by a lot of his former colonies, some of which had filled in their own eyebrows to match his famously overgrown ones.

In what Francis had first thought to be a couple of wide landscape shots of rolling prairies turned out to be pictures of Ukraine smiling back shyly, the voluminous blonde's likeness always captured outdoors. There was even one of Ukraine with her sister Belarus who looked oddly sedated and even a little happy.

Estonia covered in a group of strange mochi like creatures rounded out the rest, the Baltic shown holding or cuddling with them. Matthew was actually in quite of few himself, the pair laughing at the mochi's antics.

Studying the pictures as he would any art, Francis could not help but notice the running theme in all of them, in every single picture. All the nations were smiling, really smiling. Not the fake, vacant expressions they put on for each other, but real, genuine smiles, ones that lit up the photos and gave them a true sparkle of life.

Francis also noticed he wasn't in a single one of them. His guts clenched painfully at this realization as his gaze lingered over more of the frozen moments in time. Until now, he had thought Matthew was lonely when all he actually was….was alone. He lived more than Francis had ever imagined or gave him credit for, out and about for all the world to see. Francis became vaguely aware of someone talking to him.

"I'm zorry. What?", Francis answered softly, turning to Matthew who looked worried.

"I asked if you were alright.", Matthew repeated. He had been trying to ask Francis about what he wanted for dinner but his former keeper seemed to have shut down on him for some reason staring at his many decorated walls.

"Oui….Pardon moi, I am just a bit tired iz all, Mathieu.", Francis recovered, "It haz been a long day I am zhinking." He faked a smile at his host.

Matthew bit his bottom lip nervously in answer as the French nation continued to acted heavily distracted. "This isn't going to work out.", he thought, feeling sad and heavy from the thought. Francis looked obviously uncomfortable though he was trying to act normal. Matthew sighed to himself at the act. "Francis….you don't have to do this….if you don't want to. I'm sure there is someone else you would rather be with.", Matthew managed out, a little proud of himself. He had given Francis a way out of this situation and had done it without shedding a single tear or sounding even a little bit upset. Francis's reaction to his proposal surprised him though. Instead of looking elated, the old nation flinched as if physically struck by it.

The offer had been made without a hint of malice or self-deprecation on Matthew's part. It was spoken as if it were a mere fact based statement, like 'the sun is hot' or 'water is wet'. Despite this, it seemed to wound Francis, deeply so if his expression was any indication. Matthew began to regret it.

Francis felt something hot within him break as his breathe left him in a sudden rush. An odd sourness coated him mouth, one that made his tongue dry out to a fine sandpaper like texture. Francis choked on air, embarrassed but grateful for the distraction as he hid his mortified face behind folded hands. Francis had wronged this one for far too long. To make matters worse, Matthew truly didn't deserve it, his silence or his desertion. He was an innocent, a lost treasure. Francis made himself recover in more ways than one, composing himself.

"Mon ami, who would not want to zpend an evening with your lovely zelf?", Francis smiled easily, offering his host an elegant gesture with rose instantly in hand. He was met with a raised eyebrow and an odd half smile in return to it.

"Well…..You.", Matthew mused, tilting his head to the side as if in thought. The rest of Francis's witty banter died on his tongue, eaten alive by his ever hungry guilt.

"Now we have the chance to.", Francis said softly, turning away to study the pictures again.

"Perhaps….", Matthew shrugged in an effort to seem unaffected by the other's words, "Please make yourself at home. I'll go start dinner.". Francis couldn't bring himself to answer, feeling sick of heart and weak in words. So much for him to atone for, so little time…

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOO  
A dinner invitation, once accepted, is a sacred obligation. If you die before dinner takes place, your executor must attend.-Ward McAllister  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOO

Arthur was sweating bullets, his dinner napkin a shadow of its former self from all the knots he kept putting into it. He was sitting in a ridiculously nice restaurant with America of all nations, both of them dressed in suits(they hadn't bothered to change after the meeting) just like he had always wanted, had dreamed….

And now he couldn't think of one damn thing to say or a single viable topic to talk about. Centuries upon centuries of practicing the art of polite, meaningless conversation learned hard won in the cutthroat courts of Europe deserted him in his time of greatness need. Luckily for them both, Alfred filled in the void single-handedly, the young nation barely pausing for breath it seemed at times.

In reality, Alfred was freaking out, talking out in a state of severe nervousness as his brain screamed at him to shut the hell up. Luckily for them both, the food arrived soon enough so that both nations could focus on that instead of dwelling on Arthur's sudden case of muteness and Alfred's mouth vomit of words. Arthur didn't even taste it. His roast beef could be ash on his tongue for all he cared. Alfred seemed to eat more on automatic than anything, his attention obviously glued to Arthur.

"Um, England?', Alfred asked, making Arthur jump at the formal use of his name. Usually, the American addressed him by some idiotic nickname. Iggy was the one that he personally loathed the most, courtesy of Japan.

"Yes, America?", Arthur answered, carefully studying his plate instead of looking into the too blue eyes he just knew were staring at him.

"Are you alright? You're awfully quiet. Do you want me to shut up? I tend to ramble….", Alfred started to do just that.

"Yes! Fine! Brilliant!", Arthur cut in a bit more sharply than he had intended as he started to assault his napkin again.

"Oh…ok. I was just wondering cause you're shredding that napkin and I think its linen…..so….yeah…..", Alfred trailed off to play with his food. This was not going as well as he would have hoped. Meanwhile, Arthur looked down at the remnants of his napkin.

"Oh bollocks."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO  
Anyone who believes that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach flunked geography.-Robert Byrne  
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After he had composed himself somewhat, Francis eventually made himself go into the kitchen to find Matthew who was laying out various ingredients around a large pot. The old cook recognizing the makings of chicken soup when he saw it. Wordlessly, Francis picked up a knife and a cutting board to start chopping up the carrots, celery, and onions while Matthew cleaned a fresh chicken, plucking the feathers off of its corpse neatly with a well practiced hand.

The two nations worked together in silence for a time. It was only broken occasionally by the Canadian's polar bear who begged for the chicken's innards. They threw the ingredients into the pot seemingly at random, the art of cooking fluid between them despite their long separation. Cooking was universal it would seem. After quartering and cubing the bird, Matthew opened a bottle of dry white wine, pouring himself a glass before dumping a good amount of it into the pot. He offered the French nation a glass who declined in favor of his own personal red.

"Why do you drink that?", Matthew asked, breaking the silence between them first as the soup began to simmer as he gestured with his wine glass to the French nation's own. Francis gave the question the consideration it as due.

"To get drunk.", the old lecher grinned as he chuckled into the garnet fluid.

"And is that some of the famous wit that I am always hearing about from England?", Matthew rolled his eyes, "You know what I meant. Why do you only drink red wine?".

Francis shrugged in return, partially annoyed at the thought of England talking about him to Matthew. "White wine….iz too pure for my jaded palette. That would be the easiest answer.", Francis mused as he swirled the drink in question around in its crystal container to study its legs, "I need zomething more…..zubstantial to remind me of life with all itz bitter notez."

"That sounds depressing.", Matthew said flatly with a frown. He expected something a bit more romantic from the famously amorous nation.

"One needz bitterness to enjoy ze zweetness of it, oui?", Francis countered, "But perhapz the appreciation of it iz zomething that just comez with age."

"I'm older than you presume.", Matthew huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Experience then.", Francis shrugged in an offhand manner, smiling slightly at the childish gesture.

"I have that too.", Matthew countered, wondering to himself if they were actually flirting or not.

"Perhapz…", Francis let the word linger, hiding his smile by taking a sip of his wine. Matthew looked so cute when he was annoyed but trying to hide it. He didn't pout like America had a tendency to do. No Matthew, acted more like a put out cat, his gestures and movements becoming stiff and his face expressionless. Matthew tasted the soup to distract himself from the lull in conversation. He turned back to Francis when he was done to set his wine glass down with a definite click on the tile.

"Why did you leave me without saying goodbye?", Matthew asked pointblank, making Francis choke on his wine. The Canadian calmly passed the gasping nation a dish clothe as he tried to recover, the alcohol dripping from his lip and off of his chin.

"Do you not know? I am a coward.", Francis laughed weakly as he mopped himself off.

"That's not an answer.", Matthew remained firm, crossing his arms over his chest. He watched as Francis's shoulders sagged under the weight of his inquiry.

"What do you want me to zay?", Francis asked, his tone sounding tired and brittle around the edges as his hands gripped the counter tightly enough to make his knuckles go white.

"Anything. Just give me a straight answer.", Matthew sighed while mentally kicking himself. He had wanted to ease into this line of questioning but damn his temper. Matthew hated the thought that Francis still saw him as a younger nation in need of protection even from the truth.

"Mathieu….you zhould know by now that there are no ztraight answerz with our kind and hiztory, at itz best, iz mezzy.", Francis faltered, releasing his death grip of the counter to hold his head. He couldn't do this after all. Matthew deserved so much more than what he had to offer and not some paltry excuse at best.

"Then lie to me, damn it.", Matthew almost came to shouting, his soft voice raised, "Just tell me something…anything…".

Francis looked back at him with darkened eyes, the sapphire of them dulled with the sea of emotion that threatened to overwhelm him. The older nation went over to the soup to taste it.

"It iz in need of more zalt.", Francis managed out before leaving the room.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
I had a lot of dates but I decided to stay home and dye my eyebrows.-Andy Warhol  
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In continuing with the theme of unlikely events, Arthur found himself being walked back to his room by the American despite the travesty of what had been dinner.

"I do realize that I am a man. You do not have to do this.", Arthur grumbled. He was sure now that Alfred was trying to catch his hand, having caught the American eying the appendage and making several missed feints with his own. Alfred left off his plans of handholding to give the island nation a surprised look before descending into an obvious blush.

"But you are always supposed to escort your date home.", Alfred mumbled, giving up his earlier intent as he dug his hands deep into his bomber's pockets. Arthur stopped dead in his tracks at that statement to stare up at the taller nation.

"This was….is a date? Since when?!", Arthur choked out. Inwardly he did a wild dance of joy in his head. He realize belated his choice of words when Alfred's face fell, the American looking sheepish as he looked down at his shoes with intense interest.

"I guess it doesn't have to if you don't want it to be.", Alfred murmured, swallowing hard as he memorized his shoe leather, "I didn't have time to get you flowers or nothing.". Arthur would have happily slammed his head against a wall at that very moment for his poorly phased questions. He desperately tried to think of a way to save this situation before certain opportunities were lost forever.

"Well, if this is a date, I want to do something else. It is much too early to turn in yet.", Arthur found his voice finally, managing somehow to sound put out in spite of the heady swirl of elation and fear he was experiencing. Alfred looked up at him in surprise, his eyes going wide.

"Like what?", he asked hopefully. Alfred had been sure he had screwed the pooch by calling this a date so soon out loud.

Arthur winced, hiding the reaction by looking for his room's key card. He had no idea. He hadn't been out on a date since…..well…..best not think about it at a time like this .

"How about we go for walk? There is a park near here if I remember correctly.", Arthur fumbled.

"Oh hell no. It's fucking cold as shit out there.", Alfred shook his head emphatically. He didn't like winter in his own lands so he certainly wasn't about to go tromping around in his twin's vicious weather.

"Valid point…um…..", Arthur started to panic. If he didn't think of something soon, this meeting would end and who knows when the next time he would get this sort of opportunity again with Alfred.

"You wanna watch a movie with me in my room? Japan gave me bunch earlier.", Alfred asked hopefully, "They're kinda scary though so if you don't want to….."

"Sounds absolutely brilliant. Lead the way.", Arthur agreed quickly, almost fainting with sudden relief though he still congratulated himself on his persistence, even going so far as to sing 'Rule Britannia' in his head.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO  
One day you will think of me, as I thought of you. One day you will cry for me, as I cried for you. One day you will want me, as much as I wanted you.-Unknown  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOO

After some time it became apparent that Francis would not be returning, Matthew did a quick search of the house, finding the older nation in his own bed of all places. Francis's head was buried deep into his pillow, his face firmly hidden from view. His back shook occasionally, his cries muffled by the fabric. Francis tensed noticeably as the bed dipped underneath Matthew's weight, the quiet nation sitting down next to his former keeper. Cold hands started to gently stroke at a heaving back, the touches light and soothing.

"Please go away. I do not deserve your comfort.", Francis whispered, the words almost indiscernible. Matthew ignored him, lying down next to the prone nation to pull him close into his arms. The Canadian sighed into long tresses as his cool nose brushed against the back of a heated fragrant neck. Matthew stroked shaking sides as he whispered softly. It took a moment for Francis to realize that Matthew was actually singing an old lullaby to him, one that he had originally sung. He tried to curl away from it only to be held tighter, his back sealing a perfect line to Matthew's chest. It felt so hot to be embraced like this, to feel so wanted…..so treasured. It broke him.

"I loved you zo much.", Francis gasped out, unable to hold back anymore, "You were zupposed to be mine…..only mine, my perfect angel." It took him a moment to realize that Matthew had left off singing to start pressing kisses to the back of his neck, leaving a path of burning skin in his wake. The trail ended by his ear where the shell of it was nuzzled.

"Why have you never talked to me? Looked at me?", Matthew whispered, using his soft lips to tease the fold of sensitive cartilage.

"How could I? I was too azhamed…..too scared…..", Francis started to sob again, burying his face into his hands, "I waz not joking. I really am a coward." Francis found himself being turned over onto his back, Matthew lying bodily on top of him to prevent escape. Gentle yet strong hands pried his own away from Francis's face as fingers returned soon enough to wipe away tears from the Frenchman's cheeks as Matthew leaned in to kiss the silver paths of salt. It was almost too much for Francis to bear.

"How could I …..how could I ever expect you to forgive me when I can not even begin to forgive myzelf?", Francis asked hoarsely, his cerulean eyes brimming with more unshed tears. Their blurry gaze was met with a calm look in the shades of dying light.

"You could ask.", Matthew said softly. Francis noticed that their positions had changed and that he was now fully underneath the larger Canadian and essentially at his mercy.

"Can you ever forgive me, my beautiful one?", Francis murmured, closing his eyes as he made a vow to himself to accept whatever punishment Matthew decided for him. He could not take the beautiful countenance above him anymore.

Large hands cupped his face, tilting it upward at an angle. Francis kept his eyes shut even as silken lips were pressed to their trembling lids, soft as a snowflake's kiss.

Francis quaked as the butterfly touches left his eyes to trail down his long elegant nose, tangible warmth just hovering over his lips. It was not to be though, Matthew moving right over them to follow the line of his jaw until a cool nose nuzzled his throat making Francis gasp as words were mouthed into his skin, lips and teeth pressed to it hotly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
I don't take the movies seriously and anyone who does is in for a headache.-Bette Davis  
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"What in the hell in this sodding shite?", Arthur asked himself for what felt like the hundredth time already in the longest two hours of his life. The movie's story was laughable at best, the special effects were horrible, and the acting was atrocious. Arthur had personally seen better lines delivered on a pub's toilet stall walls.

On the hand, Alfred practically hung on every word mis-delivered and appeared terrified out of his mind as he hugged the life out of a pillow. He quaked in fear at every noise, even going so far as to emit little shrieks when Arthur prodded him with a finger to the side, much to his own personal amusement.

The piss poor excuse for cinema ended finally, Arthur breathing a sigh of relief as he got up….or at least tried to. He found it rather hard with all the shaking American on top of him.

"W-where are you going?!", Alfred demanded, still clutching at the pillow as he interrogated the nation beneath him.

"Get off, you heavy git! Where do you think?! Back to my room, of course!", Arthur managed out, but just barely. He suddenly found himself taking the place of the pillow and feeling its pain, Alfred getting up only long enough to scoop the island nation into his arms.

"NOOOOOOOO! You can't! You gotta sleep with me tonight!", Alfred told him frantically. Arthur blanched under the implications of the request.

"I beg your pardon.", Arthur squeaked out in disbelief before he could stop himself.

"You gotta stay here cause….so I can protect you…", Alfred laughed nervously, overly loud. His death hold on the Brits somehow increased, much to Arthur's joy and rib pain.

"From what?", Arthur hazarded, not really caring. It felt ridiculously good to him being this close to the American despite the threat of his insides being crushed casually in the aftermath.

"You know…..from…..stuff….", Alfred pieced together an excuse as efficiently as he could. He was enjoying this closeness as well and finding it just as distracting.

"Well, who am I to argue with that sort of sound logic then.", Arthur muttered weakly.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO  
Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third.-Marge Piercy  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOO

Francis was so pliable in his hands, the older nation responding as a doll would. His former keeper lay trembling beneath his exploring touches, his cheeks still stained with glittering trails and his eyes pressed shut as if in pain. He had asked for forgiveness.

Matthew didn't know quite what to do with himself so he soothed away the creases in Francis's forehead with the gentle touch of his silken lips. It was like every dream suddenly made real for him. Matthew bit his lip to keep from grinning, his fingers traveling upward to start stroking at long shining locks of golden hair, burrowing his nose into their soft depths. Matthew breathed Francis in, his scent all that he remembered and more. Roses, wine, cigarettes, oil paints, and smoke mixed together into an unique bouquet signature to the older nation, Matthew sighing into it.

Francis didn't know if he was in heaven, hell, or purgatory. Heaven-Matthew was above and around him, pressing himself to the line of his body, his lips lingering across his skin. It was everything he had ever wanted and more.

Hell-Matthew was so near and yet so far. The nation was as silent as ever, the quiet a blade that cut slowly down the thinning skin of his sanity. He had finally asked for forgiveness, but with no answer. Just soft touch that tortured him and kisses that broke him further than any physical blow.

Purgatory-the balance on the edges of duel infinities, one of pure soothing bliss and one of continuous rolling pain. One dimension where Matthew would love him forever and another where he would refuse to see him ever again. This could end up being their sweet parting eternally and forever more. Francis didn't know if he could live through another one, the weight of his own history beginning to crush him.

"I really am a coward.", Francis thought, trying to turn and curl away from Matthew to lose himself in the soft comfort of the bed that smelled like the Canadian, maple and cedar combining warmly. He was stopped, strong hands pulling him back over and making him sit up. Francis's eyes flew open when he was forcefully pulled into a lap, his thighs on either side of Matthew's tapered waist. The Canadian's arms wrapped around his long torso, large hands pressed into the small of his back holding Francis securely into place.

"Don't look away.", Matthew murmured. Francis realized he was doing just that, still trying to escape even when it was so apparent that he was caught and not just bodily. He looked back to find violet eyes studying him, open and without any hint of malice.

"I love you.", Matthew said softly, leaning in to press their lips together in the slightest touches of soft flesh, "I have always loved you.".

"When?", Francis mouthed wordlessly, touching their foreheads together so that blue met violet.

"That first snowfall…..so long ago…..", Matthew whispered, his hands moving upward to clutch at Francis's shoulders, pulling him in closer, his fingers digging into his flesh.

"You were beautiful…ztill are zo beautiful…..", Francis was crying again, the tears sliding down his cheeks like liquid silver to be caught on the tip of a clever tongue.

"Don't cry Francis. You are not meant to cry.", Matthew told him tenderly, pressing their cheeks together, one cool to one hot.

"If only zhat were true.", Francis laughed, the sound harsh, "How can you ever forgive me? Me of all nationz, after all thiz time?" He tried to escape from his cage of flesh again only to be held firmly in place, the Canadian making soothing sounds as he stroked his back in wide circles. Only when Francis stilled himself did Matthew speak again.

"Because you were mine and still are mine.", Matthew told him, "You never said goodbye.".

"I-I…", Francis's words failed him as lips were pressed to his own.

"You know it is true, that's why you never could.", Matthew said in-between the moments of his amorous assault.

"I am a coward.", Francis reminded him even as he responded, answering back with his flesh.

"I know. I will always follow you.", Matthew mouthed back, his hands working underneath silk to caress feverish skin.

"I am zo very weak.", Francis gasped, his fingers digging into shoulder length locks of golden hair so similar to his own.

"I know. I will always carry you.", Matthew sighed, his clever fingers making quick work of buttons to reveal creamy skin that sparkled with a sheen of golden hair over it.

"I am old and very cruel.", Francis moaned, letting himself be pushed backward until his back hit the mattress, wandering hand moving downward to part his thighs.

"I know and I will always forgive you.", Matthew promised, placing a solemn kiss over his heart.

"I love and worzhip you, my zaint, my angel, my beautiful child.", Francis whispered as Matthew leaned back over him so that their gazes aligned with each other, their eyes meeting to lose each other in their gem like colors.

"I love and adore you, my poet, my fool, my mentor.", Matthew murmured back before leaning forward. All words were lost to them from that moment on.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew.- William Shakespeare  
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Arthur wondered how the hell his night turned out like this, sharing a bed with Alfred who was currently wrapped bodily around him, the American's broad muscular chest to his narrow, lithe back. Alfred was nuzzling his neck in his slumber, moving his lips in sleep talk. Arthur knew this because he had been unable to catch a single wink of sleep himself. He was far too busy memorizing how wonderful Alfred felt, how good he smelled…..what it felt like to be held in his arms…..it wasn't like he would ever get this chance again so what was a little lost sleep to him.

It was also doing horrible things to his self control, but a little discomfort and pain was worth it as long as Alfred stayed asleep and didn't venture too far down south. Arthur had just managed to calm down himself when a sudden question made him jump.

"Hey…are you awake?", Alfred asked, sounding very alert himself.

"Y-yes, but I thought you had fallen asleep ages ago.", Arthur stammered, his breathe catching in his throat as Alfred pulled him even closer, tangling their legs together comfortably.

"Can't sleep.", Alfred murmured into his neck, his chapped lips against heated skin. Arthur bit his inner cheek hard to keep from shuddering.

"Is there anything that I can…?", Arthur started, becoming distracted when he felt Alfred lean up and over him, his hands on either side of Arthur's body and the skin of his back cooling from the loss of contact.

"England…..can I ask you something?", Alfred cut in, his tone oddly solemn.

"I suppose so. What is it, lad?", Arthur sighed, really not wanting to play 20 question but something about Alfred's tone kept him from snapping at him.

"Would it be ok if I….um…..", Alfred mumbled, "…..if I called you Arthur?". Arthur blinked in surprise at the question. He hadn't been expecting that.

"I do not see why not.", Arthur reasoned out slowly. Alfred looked so hopeful and nervous about it. "Anything if it keeps you from calling me those ridiculous names you insist on making me suffer through.", he sighed. Alfred was quiet for so long that the English nation would have thought he had gone back to sleep if he wasn't still looming over him.

"I only call you those things cause I couldn't use your name.", Alfred said softly as he returned to his previous spot of holding Arthur from behind.

"And what was so wrong with England or even United Kingdom?", Arthur asked testily, trying to ignore the arms around him now that Alfred was awake and on this strange line of questioning.

"That's all business stuff. I want more.", Alfred answered hesitantly, burrowing his heated face into Arthur's shoulder. The older nation started to turn around but found the action impossible to do while in Alfred's grasp.

"What do you mean you want….more?", Arthur made himself ask trying not to hope for impossible things. This was Alfred after all. For all he knew, the git could be referring to his god-awful burgers or something.

The old nation suddenly found himself turned over rather roughly onto his back and his lips pressed to Alfred's own in a rushed sloppy kiss. Arthur was so stunned, he almost forgot to kiss back. Their parting was too soon for either of their liking though, the two nations staring at each other as they gasped for air.

"Ah….that kind of more."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO  
In dreams and in love there are no impossibilities.-Janos Arany  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOO

They all met in the morning, Alfred practically breaking down the door as he fell through the threshold in an effort to get to the kitchen table that was heavily loaded with pancakes and coffee. Arthur followed him in with far more decorum. He was pleased to see there was some tea brewed as well, a maple leaf shaped cosy over the pot.

"How did you know that we were coming?", Arthur asked, helping himself to the steaming beverage. Matthew and his longstanding relationship bred comforting familiarity. He was surprised and yet not to see Francis there as well, looking a little worse for wear but happy.

"Al always comes over when he is here for my pancakes….", Matthew smiled, "….And I was hoping that he didn't screw up too badly with you."

"Hey! A little faith!", Alfred pouted around a forkful of pancakes.

"Yes, very little.", Matthew said snippily, "Try to keep it on your plate, hoser. Jeez, even Kumajirou eats more neatly than you do." Alfred grinned back as he finally noticed Francis in the room.

"So how'd it go, bro? Get the guy?", Alfred asked bluntly, a wicked grin growing across his face.

Francis raised an eyebrow at him in warning. "How vulgar. How iz my zweet Mathieu even related to you?", he sniffed. His imperialistic attitude flagged though when he noticed Matthew nodding back, a small smirk on his face.

"And you?", the Canadian inquired casually, his gaze moving to Arthur who stared back at him wide eyed. This was beginning to feel like set up to him.

"Mission accomplished, Maple Leader, sir!", Alfred saluted a flippant gesture, a big shit eating grin to go with it.

"It would appear the frog and I have been duped and you two have had this all planned out from the beginning.", Arthur said slowly as he exchanged miffed looks with Francis. The twins did nothing to alleviate their suspicions, the blondes leaning into each other to share a laugh.

"Well not exactly…", Matthew began.

"…..nothing was actually planned…", Alfred continued.

"…..but we did have some ideas…", Matthew picked up.

"….it was just never seemed the right time though.", Alfred finished.

"Bloody hell, I hate it when they do that.", Arthur grumbled into his teacup.

"Then…You have known our intentionz….our desirez all along?", Francis asked, the player feeling played by his own student.

"Pssssh. Like you guys couldn't have been more obvious about it." Alfred scoffed, earning him a look from most in the room, the American famous for his oblivious nature.

"You two were always a little thick headed. I don't know how we could have made it clearer to you that we were interested.", Matthew chuckled with a shake of his head.

"Thick headed! Clearer! You cheeky bastards! In what way did you make it clear?!", Arthur sputtered, setting down his teacup in preparation to argue. He found himself gathered up in long arms and spun around instead, a hand holding his own in place as the other went around his waist.

"Duh, as in crystal.", Alfred said, twirling them around in an impromptu dance, the way they used to do when Alfred was tiny and would stand on Arthur's feet. Now he led his keeper in easy sweeping movements, "I picked you."

"And I picked you.", Matthew told Francis as he offered the Frenchman his hand, the older nation accepting it graciously as he too was pulled into music less waltz.

"So all this time…", Arthur sighed, giving in to being twirled around, "Sneaky little buggers…."

"Learned from the best.", Alfred laughed, as the dancers gracefully switched off partners, Arthur with Matthew now and Francis with Alfred.

"Zo what now?" Francis asked the room, moving a hand downward to cup Alfred's ass. His toes were promptly stepped on.

"Happily ever after?", Alfred posed, as the dancers were exchanged again, the twin dancing in perfect synch with each other, the other pair doing the same as well through ancient ritual and habit.

"Not bloody likely.", Arthur grumped, scowling at his dancing partner who leered back, "And keep your hand right where it is or else I'll castrate you, frog. I will remind you we are in a kitchen. I have access to many interesting things to do it with." Francis shrugged as he gratefully let Arthur be retrieved by his American and Matthew once again took his place.

"Tough shit cause that's what we are going with.", Alfred told the English nation firmly with a definite sort of conviction that usually only children are able to manage.

"I like it. It has a nice ring to it.", Matthew smiled softly.

"I promised you forever once already.", Francis sighed, knowing firsthand some things were never meant to be true.

"That is why we are going to promise forever and a day.", Matthew laughed, bringing the dance to a halt to cup Francis's face with cool hands. Alfred did the same but only after he had dipped Arthur needlessly.

"An infinite day!", Alfred added gleefully.

"Now you all are just being ridiculous and even worse, redundant.", Arthur scowled even as his cheeks bloomed roses of deep seated mixed embarrassment. His heart was so light and happy, his mind ablaze with all possibilities, and his stomach sick with barely contained excitement. He was so in love it was practically painful and almost paralyzing to him. Arthur's revelry was broken when he was bodily picked up, strong arms supporting him easily as he was held close. He was ready to launch into a reprimand of epic proportions when sparkling blue eyes cut him off.

"So forever and a day?", Alfred asked him, looking into clover eyes with a soft yearning gaze.

"Yes Ame….", Arthur began, pausing to reevaluate his answer, "Yes, Alfred.". He barely had time to yelp in surprise as he was kissed with such a force it unbalanced them both. They crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs, still attached to each other.

Francis and Matthew looked on in amusement when it became obvious that their presence was being totally disregarded in every sense of the word as the two nations continued their amorous affections. The couple moved out into the living room to give them some space. They stood in the silence of their own moment, looking into each others eyes.

"Tu me manques.", Matthew whispered, "Give me forever and I will give you a love you will never be able to forget."

"You already have, mon amour."

"Je t'aime de tout mon coeur et tu es mon monde."

"Pour toujours."


End file.
